


My Hapless Joy

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [36]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1995, Full Moon, M/M, Wolfsbane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One moonrise, one vial, one thing to hold on to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hapless Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Week 36
> 
> Title from Dowland's "In Darkness Let Me Dwell"

“I still have a hard time believing that this will work,” Sirius tells him. “You’re sure it’s the right stuff?”

“It’s worked for two years,” Remus replies. “I don’t see why it would stop now. Can you put that down?”

Sirius continues peering into the vial of dark liquid. “Snivellus could have slipped something into it. Maybe it’s poison.”

“It’s not poison.” Remus rolls his neck from side to side, head pounding. “Just put it down.”

“You don’t _know,”_ Sirius mutters darkly, but he sets the vial back onto the table. “How’re you feeling?”

“The way I usually do,” Remus snaps, “although it’s remarkably similar to how I feel whenever you’re being particularly…irritating. So I can’t tell.” He drops into a chair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I mean, it’s true, but—oh, hell.” He massages his temples with tingling fingers.

Sirius sits opposite him. “I’m a prick, Moony, I know. You can say it.”

“You’re not a prick,” Remus says. “You’re like a dog that won’t stop shedding all over the furniture.”

“I haven’t actually—”

“Frustrating,” he finishes, “but ultimately harmless.”

Sirius grins. “I can live with that. Hopefully you can, too.” He reaches across the table and takes Remus’s hands. “How are you, really? Anything I can do?”

Remus shakes his head. “Nothing _to_ do.”

“The potion doesn’t help the headaches?”

“Nor the bit where my bones feel like they’re about to splinter. You’re not making it worse,” he says quickly as Sirius starts to release his hands. “You know that by now.”

“I know. Just—are you sure there’s nothing I can do? D’you want water?”

Remus laughs despite the ache in his ribs. “No, thanks. Have you done something wrong? Did Padfoot pee on the carpet? You’re being very—protective.”

“I thought I was being nice.”

“You’re very nice, Sirius.” Remus sighs and lowers his head to rest his chin on their folded hands. “What did you do while I was out?”

“Well,” Sirius begins, slowly, “first I yelled at Kreacher for trying to steal plates from the china cupboard. Then I chucked the plates in the bin.” He speaks in a leisurely drawl. It’s a game they’ve played dozens and dozens of times, the distractions, half of them exaggerated, intended only to make Remus focus on the words rather than his own warping body. “Then I realized we need the plates, so I fixed them.”

“Good thinking.”

“After that I tried removing the rust from the taps but I wasn’t sure of the spell. Couldn’t find it in any of the books, either.” Sirius holds his gaze. “I was bored.”

Remus thinks that he can _feel_ the sun setting, although the kitchen is underground—or rather, he can feel the moon rising. It’s as if it’s pulling the transformation over him, tugging at his mind.

“Eventually Kingsley stopped by and told me about some…”

And the way the shadows play over the room, which is lit by enchanted lamp from above, lends everything an eerie quality. Remus is reminded of the class where they were told that there are indeed monsters and for all his thirteen-year-old self knew, they could be disguised as schoolboys waiting to devour their friends. His spine feels stretched too long for his skin. It felt that way when he was seven, too, and his mother said—

“Remus? You hanging in there?”

Remus blinks and the lamp is just a lamp, the shadows nothing more than spaces in between the light. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough; he clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Maybe you ought to drink the potion now.”

“What if it’s poison?” Remus echoes, but he unstoppers the vial and downs its contents in one pull. A shudder runs through him and he clenches his hands convulsively.

Sirius squeezes back. “We can just sit, if you want. Or we can try cleaning something—there’s enough to keep us busy until moonrise. Or we could do… other things.” He raises one eyebrow.

Remus snorts.

“Ah, well.”

“Sorry, Padfoot.” Remus doesn’t think he can smile just now, but he moves their hands and kisses Sirius’s knuckles. “I’m grateful, you know.”

“For what, my fur all over the furniture?”

“I’m serious,” Remus says, and it’s a mark of something important that Sirius doesn’t pounce on that. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He closes his eyes against the pulsing of his own heart. “You’re still around, you know?”

Sirius chuckles. Remus can’t see him, but he hears his voice, quiet and honest and close. “Where else would I be?”


End file.
